


Repression

by avatarkadaj



Series: Smut Series [1]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Masturbation, Other, Self-Humilation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5633941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avatarkadaj/pseuds/avatarkadaj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anakin needs some alone time to deal with his feelings. In an unnecessary and inappropriate way. Coping methods don’t have to be clean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repression

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Repression  
> Pair/Person: Anakin; Anakin/self  
> Rating: NC17/Explicit  
> Word Count: ~1,000
> 
> Self-indulgent smut series [1/?]

He shouldn’t be doing this, he really shouldn’t be.

Anakin’s eyes glanced to the door. Locked. There was no one around, the hallway beyond the door was also empty. He was _alone,_ which is what he needed; just some alone time to work things out. Rex and the others should be on the bridge with Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka was absent from this mission.

He blinked hard and shook his head a little. He could not be thinking of Ahsoka while he was trying to do this. Thinking of his teenage Padawan while he was taking off his belt and laying on his back in a lewd, spread eagle position was the definition of wrong.

He was married. Theoretically, he shouldn’t need – shouldn’t need to do _this_ but when he was spending months at a time on his own, away from her, away from their bed, he got wound too tight, tense in every inch of his body. He was stressed out and pushing away the urge only lasted for so long. Had he not been focused on his current task – getting a decent amount of lube onto his hand, slicking up his palm and fingers – he might have wondered how Obi-Wan managed.

It was more than just sexual tension. Even with Padme, as much as sex with her was a relief, which meant most of his time on ‘retreat’ meant being in the Senator’s bed and thanking the Maker there were soundproof walls, it wasn’t always _enough._ He couldn’t be too passionate, too rough, or he would hurt her. Her body was perfect and the way she _sounded_ made him want to give her everything, but she was small, dainty almost, and wasn’t built for his strength.

He was just _tense,_ always, perpetually – always needed to be the hero, the general, the _chosen one._ But he couldn’t complain, he couldn’t protest. He was a good Jedi, loyal. But that loyalty came with a price. He had to soldier on, had to ignore his feelings, his wants, and keep a straight face.

Which he wasn’t doing now as he shoved his hand – his real, flesh hand – down the front of his trousers to free his shaft, a low gasp at the contact. He hesitated, as if someone could hear him, before starting in slow strokes. His muscles relaxed a little as he set a steady rhythm. A low sigh, a slick sound of his wet hand tracing over his arousal.

There it was – the ease of his body, just a little self-indulgence, something to make him feel _good –_ and when he brushed over the head he just –

A quick snap of his hips and a sharp whisper – _fuck –_ and he did it again, swearing again, and he quickened his pace. Relief flooded over him and the galaxy felt light years away – no war just the feeling of pleasure filling his senses as he stroked and bucked.

A few strokes – up and down, over and over, his hips arching up as if eager for the touch when he occasionally circled and teased the head – in a nice rhythm stopped being suitable, stopped being enough and he worked himself faster, harder, his gasps turning into harsh pants. He tossed his head back and his whole body reacted, twisting, arching, _needing –_

His jaw clenched, breathing harshly through his teeth and his eyes squeezed shut as he focused – tried to focus on what he was trying to accomplish here – purging his emotions.

He treated himself as he felt – he was bitter, he was angry, he didn’t want this, this position he was put in and the way his hand teased and fisted his cock showed it. He bit back a low whine – _fuck why did he have to like torturing himself it felt so good –_

He reeled the negative thoughts back in, afraid for a moment if he went too far he would chase away the arousal and he’d go mad if he didn’t finish this. He wanted to come, wanted to be finished – he couldn’t take much more of this at this rate – but he couldn’t.  An irritated sound caught in his throat as he used one hand to work the base and the other to focus on the head, circling it, playing with the slit with a sharp intake.

But he still couldn’t get over the edge, couldn’t find his release. Fuck, he couldn’t even get off right, he was disgusting. He just wanted to come, why couldn’t he – he could feel the climax _right there_ but he couldn’t _reach it –_ a low, harsh moan, as he brought himself close but not quite.

He was such a screw up – couldn’t regulate his feelings without fucking himself – he was always a screw up – he was out of control – one hand switched to yanking his hair as the other worked his cock quickly, hips bucking for the friction – and he felt himself get close again.

That Anakin, can’t even come without taking his anger out on himself – this time with his hand wrapped around his hard cock and the other tugging, pulling, yanking his hair, choked noises of bittersweet pleasure gasped between clenched teeth, hips rocking, body writhing against the sheets – he’s here fucking himself while his entire clone battalion is on board this cruiser, he could be caught at any second whimpering and touching himself – or maybe his master, what would he say to him not doing what he was supposed to, which he couldn’t even remember what that was while his thumb rubbed the slit of his cock – what a fuck up but it _feels so good –_ this pathetic mess is supposed to be a savior but look at the way his face looks, sweaty and struggling and oh how it feels when _yes yes yes_ and he’s _ohyesyessocloseIneeditplease-_ ing under his breath.

He spilled over his hand in a rough, forceful orgasm, his back arching hard off the cot. His flesh hand is covered in his come, staining bits of his trousers. He made a mess of himself, like he always does.


End file.
